


Black Swan

by musadinessuno



Category: Muse (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2889185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musadinessuno/pseuds/musadinessuno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a swan. No, he was The Swan, and he was falling, and falling, and falling...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. uno

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Muse, I swear (although, I'll admit it, I had the best conversations of my life with the poster on my wall). This story is a work of fiction and I never meant any offence to anyone. 
> 
> Author's Note: alright guys, first off: I never tried to write anything even remotely creative in my life - so, please, go soft on me. I just thought I might have given it a try, so here I am! C:  
> As you might have noticed, I'm not a native English speaker - I therefore apologise if I fail to make sense sometimes, one of the reasons why I'm doing this is that I'd like to improve my written English as well. Also, special thanks to Brigi, who is a wonderful beta and helped me a lot with her cheering! ♥

He was dancing.  
  
  
Darkness surrounded him as he moved on the tips of his toes, the world beneath closed eyelids, the beating of his own heart the only music he could hear.  
  
It felt like a dream –  _was it a dream?_  he wondered – yet he could still feel the strain in his calves as he turned his knees out, the joy of the jump as he lifted off the floor and that wonderful, gravity-defying feeling of lightness as he floated in the air like a feather…  
  
But then everything stopped.  
  
He landed on his heel, his ankle rolling inwards as he failed to keep his balance – “ _the spell can’t be broken_ ,” he heard himself say – and that was when he heard it, the music, finally, that Moderato e Maestoso that led through the final scene on the enchanted lake.  
He was a swan. No, he was  _The Swan_ , and he was falling, and falling, and falling...  
  
“ _The spell can’t be broken..._ ”  
  
  
  
Matthew woke with a start.  
  
  


 

 

___________________________________________________________________________

 

 

  
  
“ _Saywhat?!_ ”  
  
  
Tom jumped from his spot on the grass as he gestured towards Dominic who was still sipping nonchalantly on his can of soda, as if no one had ever interrupted him.  
  
“What do you mean ‘ _she’s not even that fit_ ’ – are you blind?!”  
  
“I also think she got a nose job or something,” Dom continued, probably just to get on Tom’s nerves. “I don’t know, she’s got a weird nose, mate, it’s like it doesn’t suit her face, you know?”  
  
Tom shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a lost cause,” he blurted out. “You’re a fucking lost cause. Hottest girl in our year asks you out and you, you what, you just say no because  _her nose doesn’t suit her face_?!”  
  
He turned to look at Matthew who was leaning with his back against the wooden fence as he tried to read through his history paper. “Matt,” Tom called, openly asking for help. “Matt, mate,  _tell him_.”  
  
“Tell him what,” said Matt, somehow refusing to give Tom the support he was looking for by avoiding to look him in the eyes. Secretly, he agreed with Dom – he didn’t like Pat much himself, and her nose... well, the way it stretched her upper lip whenever she smiled was rather weird; plus, her posture was too tense, her walk ungracious, her boobs too big...  
  
If Matt had to be honest, he wasn’t even sure if he liked girls at all, but he kept that to himself. He straightened his back against the fence and started reading through another page of his paper. However, he could still feel Tom’s eyes on him, while Dom was puffing out smoke from a freshly lit cigarette, and Chris was approaching in the background.  
  
“‘Morning, idiots,” he heard Chris say. “Matthew,” he then added, cocking his head a bit towards him.  
  
Matt lifted his eyes for a moment, his own way to say hello. He saw Dom letting out a silent, smoky laugh as he tossed the empty soda can at Tom, making him squeal in protest as it hit him square in the chest. Behind him, Chris gave a loud chuckle before plopping down on the grass between the two of them, Dom now busy balling up his lunch bag and aiming it at Tom.  
  
He felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He was grateful for his friends, really, he was. They were cool, they were fun – heck, they were the best – but sometimes he just couldn’t help but wonder why’d they chosen to become friends with him in the first place; Matt was the shy, taciturn boy who read those super-fucking-boring books and hid a stash of old classical records in his bedroom.  
  
They simply didn’t have anything in common, except the school they all attended.  
  
“You coming to see The Hulk tonight?”  
  
Dom paused in his bombing mission long enough to give Matt his accomplished “ _you just can’t say no again_ ” stare. Tom took advantage of the temporary truce to throw a book back at him, missing Dom’s head with several meters and hitting Chris’ arm instead.  
  
Chris took the book from his lap and handed it back to him with a warning glare. “Which one is it?” he asked. “The really bad one or the really bad one?”  
  
“The really bad one  _with_  Liv Tyler,” said Tom, wiggling his dark eyebrows as if to make a point. “It’s actually a lot better than Lee’s one, though, isn’t it?”  
  
“Don’t know about it. Lee’s Hulk was kinda boring, but it still had -”  
  
“You’re not coming, are you?”  
  
Dom didn’t look directly at Matt when he spoke, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out just who he was referring to. Matt never went to any of the guys' movie nights, nor did he indulge in any kind of after-school activity with them. He knew it drove Dom mad – Chris and Tom had already given up on him, although they still asked him to join them everytime – but Dom simply couldn’t drop it.  
  
It made Matt’s heart swell a bit in his chest, as if he didn’t already feel guilty enough for not telling them about… no, he just couldn’t do it.  
  
“Earth to Matt,  _hello_?”  
  
He wished he had the courage to tell them, simple as it was: _sorry, guys, I have to train tonight. Margareth signed me up for some kind of audition for an in-the-round production of Swan Lake, it’s just in two weeks, but she said I can totally get Siegfried’s role if I work hard enough… oh, and yeah, by the way, I’ve been taking ballet classes for three years now. I just bloody_ love  _it._  
  
“I - I don’t think I can make it, tonight, I’m sorry,” he said instead, trying to avoid making eye-contact with Dom while he spoke. He knew the blond was still watching him.  
  
“Dad’s away for work this week and I have to look after Nana.”  
  
That excuse always worked, although they all knew it was actually a lie. Well, not all of it – his father was away for work, he always was, but they’d all met Matt’s grandma and saw with their own eyes that she was more than able to look after herself, and after her grandson too.  
  
“Maybe next week,” he tried, his voice almost a whisper. “We could take a walk together after school, there’s this -”  
  
“A walk, seriously?” Dom interrupted him, flexing his jean-clad legs as he made to get up. “Jesus, not just a bloody liar,” he spat, his sneer all shades of derisive. “You’re also boring as fuck!”  
  
Matt’s arms flinched against his sides as he tried to gather his thoughts for an adequate comeback, but it was too late; Dom was already walking away from the group, leaving Chris and Tom to deal with him.  
  
For a minute, none of them dared to speak a word. Matt’s hands were shaking like leaves by the time he was done folding his papers and putting them back in the bag, his lunch lying in its box on the grass beside him, untouched, forgotten.  
  
“I’m -”  _going_ , he tried to say, but no voice came out to help him.  
  
He tried to get up then, but his whole body just said  _no_.  
  
“Are you ok?” Tom asked after a while. When he realised he wasn’t going to get any reply from Matt, he got on his knees and crawled from his spot to his friend’s side, touching Matt's arm for a bit.  
  
“I swear, he’s worst than a fucking girl sometimes,” he murmured, gently squeezing Matt’s shoulder over his worn-out grey coat. “Just ignore him. He’ll come to his senses, eventually, you just… you - err,” he stopped, glancing at the spot Dom had occupied before he decided to fuck off, then back at Matt, all red cheeks and liquid blue eyes. “You know you can tell us anything, right?” he said in the end, eyebrows shooting up in what he hoped was a reassuring way.  
  
Dumbstruck, Matt found himself nodding some kind of agreement.  
  
Part of him was raging to go after Dom and tell him that he wasn’t a bloody liar, that he actually had something to do and wasn’t just avoiding them for fun, or because he didn’t enjoy their company. The other part, though, wished for the ground to open up and swallow him that very moment, because he was, indeed, a bloody liar – he was such a big, fucking lying pussy – and God, was he tired of being like that, was he tired of having to hide for no reason, if not for shame?  
  
“Look, you don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to,” said Chris in that moment, somehow answering Tom’s question for him. “Just, you know. You may want to come up with new excuses from time to time. A dead cat, a rollerblade race competition, fucking tutu shopping for the upcoming ballet - ”  
  
“Male ballet dancers do not wear tutus,” snapped Matt, his nostrils flaring as he fought to remember how to breathe properly.  
  
Chris’ hands shoot up to his face as he tried to release some of his own pent-up frustration. “Whatever,” he growled, impatient fingers pulling at his curly hair. “They still look like bloody  _poofs_  to me, ay? But seriously, Matt, you’re missing the point here, it’s not – oi, just where do you think you’re  _going_  now?”  
  
But Matt was already pushing past Tom’s spread arms, his heart pounding madly in his chest as he turned around to pick up his stuff from the grass. “I’m going home,” he retorted, staring at Chris as he lifted his left arm in a mock fifth en haut goodbye. “See, I have to get ready for my  _ballet class_.”  
  
“Cut the drama, Matt, seriously -”  
  
“Oh, but I am serious, Chris. I’m just so serious, you have no idea.”  
  
He didn’t wait for a reply, nor did he stop when he heard Tom calling after him. His feet floated like smoke on the wet grass as he ran, his breath catching up in his throat, and soon he was slipping through the main gate, down the street, the light sea breeze soaking his lungs with newly found sadness.


	2. due

“You’re too tense, Matt. Relax.”  
   
   
Matt tried to do just that as he hoisted his hand from the bar, his wrist producing a small snapping sound when he turned his arm in position. He checked his pose in the mirror and bent his knees, finding it very hard to relax with Margareth’s breath on his neck, her constant scolding in his ears. He almost wished he could turn her on silent mode sometimes, like a TV, and ignore her presence despite all the mirrors in the room.    
   
   
“Tailbone down, don’t stick your bum out!”  
   
   
“I’m not -”  
   
   
“Shush!”  
   
   
“But -”  
   
   
“I said shush!”  
   
   
Feeling very much like Meg was trying to get on his nerves on purpose, Matt suppressed a groan and rolled his eyes behind closed eyelids, not even bothering to correct his pose as he proceeded with the exercise. He knew he was doing it the right way, but for some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, that evening his teacher kept coming up with grumpy remarks about his alleged lack of concentration.  
   
   
His head gently swaying along with the music playing in the background, Matt kept bending and unbending his knees with smooth moves, his heels never once leaving the ground. As to prove his point, though, just as he prepared to move to the next position, Margareth stopped him again to tell him to breathe – just like that, almost tenderly: “breathe”, as if he had never done anything quite like that in his whole life.  
   
   
“I am breathing, Meg,” he snapped and puffed his cheeks till they looked like two apples as he took in a ridiculous amount of air. “How else would you explain the fact that I’m still alive?”  
   
   
Margareth’s face remained still, not a trace of that trademark mocking smile of hers on her beautiful features. Her green eyes regarded Matt with a warning glare, nothing more, nothing less; she didn’t need to say another word to make it clear that she was not pleased with his silly retort.    
   
   
Bashfully, Matt lowered his own eyes to the wooden floor, his teeth biting on his lower lip as he murmured a tiny “sorry” at her direction. It wasn’t like he was scared of Meg – although sometimes she could be rather intimidating – but the boy had a lot of respect for his teacher, so much that he actually felt a bit embarrassed by his little outburst.    
   
   
Not only had she accepted to give him classes for free, but in the last three years Meg had proved him to be more than just a dance teacher. She was a good listener, a friend, and she was gifted with a sixth sense when it came to determine his moods. This was unnerving sometimes, but Matt would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t secretly crave for that kind of attention.  
   
   
And yet, as she kept looking at him like she was trying to drill a hole in his head and spy on whatever was going on inside of it, the boy couldn’t help but think that it was none of her business.  
   
   
He didn’t want to tell her about that morning on the school fields; he didn’t want to tell her about his friends; he didn’t want to tell her about that feeling of rejection that was eating him up inside, filling his gut with stones, his mouth with more and more lies…    
   
   
No, that was none of her business.  
   
   
“Well,” he said, gripping the bar again and forcing his thoughts back to the exercise. “Shall I move onto fourth now?”  
   
   
Margareth was still looking at him, her brown, wavy, hair dancing around her face as she shook her head no. “Well, I guess you can,” she conceded, though, pausing a bit before adding, in a whispery voice: “if you feel so inclined to do so...”  
   
   
Choosing to ignore the weary tone in her retort, Matt moved his right leg to draw a quarter circle on the ground, turning his heel out as much as he could with the motion, before lowering it in front of his left one and adjusting his arms to stand in fourth position.  
   
   
His eyes never leaving their azure twins in the mirror, he bent his knees as far as possible with his heels firmly on the ground. He took extra care to keep his balance – no tucking, tipping, tilting or twisting – before setting his right arm to float like a wing against his side.  
   
   
It was only then that Margareth spoke again.  
   
   
“Don’t pinch your shoulders!” she barked, her face a mask of concentration as she took on checking Matt’s moves from the mirror. Needless to say, the boy wasn’t doing anything like that, but the lack of the usual comeback from him only spurred her to get even nastier in her reproaches, in hopes of getting the reaction she was looking for.    
   
   
“Watch your hips, keep ‘em parallel to the floor – and just what is that, zombie ballet? I told you to relax, not to move like a bloody corpse!”  
   
   
Tensing up again, Matt shut his eyes and forced himself to keep on moving, his ears deaf to everything but the music. He knew only too well what Meg was doing – trying to rile him up so that he would snap and let out whatever it was that was troubling him – but he wasn’t willing to give up yet.    
   
   
Still, he could simply not bear the fact that he’d been spending the last two hours doing stupid exercises at the bar when they should have been practicing grips instead. He had an audition for a most important role in two weeks – in fact, Meg had signed him up for that shit! – and here he was, like an idiot, working his ass off for nothing.    
   
   
As for that, Matt did not only find demi-pliés to be incredibly boring, but, after hours of exhausting workout, he’d also started noticing a burning pain in the back of his thighs, his ankles begging for mercy as he struggled to keep his heels planted on the ground all the time.  
   
   
Ever so slowly, the boy turned his head around to look at the teacher. “Meg,” he called, trying his best to sound as polite as possible. “Do you think we’ll have any time left after this? I wanted to show you -”  
   
   
When Meg lifted her cane and hit him on the back of his thighs with it, Matt was pretty positive he didn’t really do anything to deserve it.  
   
   
“Ouch!”  
   
   
Groaning, the boy restrained from flexing his injured leg, knowing that Meg was most likely going to strike him again if he dropped the position. “What was that for?” he snapped, though, failing to hide the contentious note in his voice.  
   
   
Meg refused to meet his stare directly, her hands resting on the cane while she kept her eyes trained on the figure in the mirror. “Go lower,” she commanded, ignoring both his questions, “you can go lower, just bend your knees.”  
   
   
“What?!”  
   
   
“You heard me.”  
   
   
The look on the teacher’s face was, if possible, the scariest and yet the most serene Matt had ever seen on her. For a split second he considered the idea that she might have been joking all this time, but he quickly pushed that thought aside when he saw her fingers twitching around the handle of her walking stick.    
   
   
“Are you - are you serious? Like, actually serious?” he asked, knitting his eyebrows. “It’s impossible, you know I can’t bend like that, I’m not -”  
   
   
Margareth didn’t even let him finish; she hit him again, this time on one of his calves. Matt let out a yelp of pain, eyes stinging as his hands shoot down to rub at the sore spot, pose be damned.  
   
   
“Jesus, Meg, what the fuck?” he shrieked, feeling rather humiliated when tears suddenly started running down his cheeks. He moved his arm quickly to hide them from her, rubbing his eyes against the soft fabric of his tee while he fought to slow down his breathing back to normal.    
   
   
He wasn’t even sure if he was crying from the pain, or because he was tired, or maybe because he felt like he didn’t deserve to be treated like that – all he knew, though, was that it had to stop now, just as it had started. Matt didn’t like crying in front of others; he didn’t want people to think that he was weak and, most of all, he didn’t really need any of that pitiful shit they usually came up with in these situations.       
   
   
“When you dance,” he heard Margareth say, her tone everything but apologetic, “the world stays out of it. Now, I want you to look at that mirror and tell me what you see.”  
   
   
Startled, Matt pinched the point of his reddened nose, his eyes blinking a stupid amount of times against the wetness gathered at their corners. “I probably look like a shit on two legs,” he mumbled, spidery fingers brushing away the last trace of tears from his cheeks with skittish moves.  
   
   
Margareth gripped the boy’s wrist, gently tugging at his hand. “Well,” she said, relieved to see, at least, that Matt wasn’t shying away from her touch. “Just take a look at that shit then.”  
   
   
“What for?”  
   
   
“You just do it.”  
   
   
Slowly, fighting back another sob, Matt lifted his gaze from the floor, his mouth a thin, wobbly, line as he took in his appearance.    
   
   
The boy in the mirror looked every bit like him. He was slender, not too tall, his hair a dark shade of brown and his eyes the colour of the winter sea. His face had a sharp look to it, his cheekbones standing high and casting shadows over the moon-pale skin.    
   
   
And yet, as he kept on looking at him, Matt was sure that that boy, unlike himself, wasn’t really feeling any pain in his legs, or the sticky wetness of sweat and tears on his skin as it blushed pink from the exertion. He looked tired, yes, but he wasn’t – not for real; he wasn’t even breathing, his chest merely copying Matt’s gentle motions as he inhaled more air in his lungs, his eyes only blinking when Matt did so.    
   
   
“Your technique is perfect,” Margareth said, her voice almost a whisper, and Matt could see her fingers trailing down through the boy’s hair, though he hardly felt their touch on himself. “But I might as well look at the shit on two legs in the mirror and it would still feel the same, you know what I mean?”  
   
   
Yes. Yes, Matt knew exactly what she meant.    
   
   
The boy in the mirror was just a copy. A cold, empty skin with no soul. He showed no feelings, no passion – he was a fake. He was a fake.  
   
   
“Is that how you see me? Is that how you really see me?”  
   
   
His mind in a fog, Matt just kept staring at his reflection, asking himself the same question again and again. His vision blurred, his chest aching, and yet, weirdly, all he could think about was the peculiar smell of wet grass and the muddy stains on his red wellies as he played in a puddle in their back-garden – and suddenly he was three again, and his mother was laughing along with him as she helped his small hands to spoon more mud in them, their clothes all dirty and soggy when they blew the invisible candle on their mud cake…  
   
   
Soon, he felt Margareth’s arms encircling him from behind, trapping his whole body in a fierce embrace that felt like the rain, the sweet scent of her skin, like cinnamon cakes, invading his nostrils. Unable to move, Matt found himself standing awkwardly with his feet still in fourth position, his fingers brushing lightly against Meg’s where they lay across his stomach.    
   
   
“I’m sorry, I - I lost time,” he said, feeling rather stupid, but he just didn’t know what else to do. Meg’s answering giggle was a bit muffled by the skin of his own neck, her head coming to rest on Matt’s shoulder as she held him in a bone-crushing hug for one more moment before letting go.  
   
   
“What do you mean, you lost time?” she asked. “You zoned out?”  
   
   
Not trusting himself enough to speak again, Matt just nodded, Meg studying his every move from the mirror as she resumed her position behind him.  
   
   
“I know you’re more than that, Matthew,” she smiled, her voice soothing like chamomile tea. “I can see it when I look into your eyes. They’re full of water, and I’m most certainly not talking about tears. Now, if you try to hide the most powerful force in the universe behind an iron mask – well, excuse me if I call you stupid, then, but do you know what happens when iron meets water?”  
   
   
His nose scrunching up as if he were struggling to give his opinion on the matter, Matt answered Meg’s question in a quiet voice.  
   
   
“It wears it down.”    
   
   
“Exactly,” she agreed. Her face fell a bit when she noticed the boy’s expression – his cheeks red, eyes wild – and soon Meg felt like hugging him again just to prove him that she was there for him; she didn’t, though, choosing to force her presence on him with words instead.    
   
   
“Let it go, Matt,” she said, whispering right into his ear. “Drop the facade, it’s not worth it.”  
   
   
“You make it sound like it’s easy, Meg, but really, it isn’t.”  
   
   
“I never said it was, did I?”    
   
   
His head bowed in contempt, Matt turned around to find Meg still staring at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Go get changed now, pup, it’s gotten late,” she said, her fingers gently tilting his chin up. “I’ll be off to the city this weekend, but I’ll leave you my keys just in case you feel like coming in and practise a bit, alright?”  
   
   
Matt felt his heart still in his chest, the prospect of going home now less appealing than ever. A quick glance to the clock on the wall proved him that it was, indeed, pretty late, though; Meg never stayed after nine, she had a husband waiting for her at home.  
   
   
“Yes – right – it’s late, practice tomorrow,” he stumbled, cursing when he noticed that he wasn’t making any sense, again. “I mean, err, thank you.”  
   
   
Giggling, the teacher tossed her hair behind her shoulders as she put her coat on, before bending to pick her stuff from the small bench at the corner of the room. “No worries,” she said, and then, as if she were about to forget something incredibly relevant, she added: “Oh, Matt!”    
   
   
She stopped mid-track, one hand hoisted securely around her walking stick, the other already digging in her backpack. Matt watched her as she produced something from her bag: a set of keys and a small, silvery package that looked suspiciously like a box of sweets.  
   
   
“These are Tunnock’s teacakes,” she explained, as if answering Matt’s unspoken question. “And I want you to eat all of them as soon as I’m out of here, alright?”  
   
   
“Why,” Matt asked, not wanting to lose the occasion to tease her. “Don’t you want one?”  
   
   
Meg turned around to look at him, looking positively murderous. “I’m on a diet, you skinny fucker,” she growled, her green eyes reduced to slits. “You, on the other hand, look like you haven’t had a proper meal in ages.”     
   
   
“I skipped lunch today, I know,” Matt said, before adding, quickly: “it won’t happen again, I promise.”  
   
   
“Good,” Meg squinted at him one more time, “because if you ever dare to come in again on an empty stomach,” she went on, “I’ll kick the shitting daylights out of you.”  
   
   
And then, with nothing but one last floating kiss, she was waving him goodbye in her usual way, walking backwards through the door with a smirk on her face and her red scarf around her neck.  
   
   
   
   
   
 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

   
   
   
   
   
   
   
The fresh night breeze stung his face with its icy, tiny fingers, Matt keeping a deliberate slow pace as he walked down the hill. He loved that look on Teignmouth, the small town looking rather picturesque at that time of the day, when the streetlamps set out a series of small flickering flames as their orange light hit the black windows of the pubs.  
   
   
Humming a quiet melody to himself – one he couldn’t remember hearing anywhere before – he reached the small patch of grass near the ice cream parlour, pausing only when he felt the urge to take another bite of the sweet treat in his hand.    
   
   
He did it then, taking in the rich flavour of dark chocolate, followed instantly by the fluffy sweetness of the marshmallow hidden inside of it; Tunnock’s teacakes, Matt was sure of it, were way better than sex.    
   
   
Not that he’d ever had sex with anyone in his life, but still, they were the best thing he’d ever tasted.  
   
   
Just as he made to start walking again, his coat hanging loose around his shoulders, he heard someone calling – well, actually shouting – his name. Dumbstruck, he turned around to see just who it was, but all he managed to catch before he was literally tackled to the ground was a glimpse of longish blond hair and a manic white grin.    
   
   
“Matt! Oh my God, what are you doing here at this time of the night? I thought you never came out of your bedroom after the Sun set, started to think you were a closet werewolf or something!”  
   
   
Finding it very hard to speak with Dom pressing both his elbows down on his stomach so forcefully, Matt only puffed his cheeks, signaling for the blond to get off him in order to be able to breathe again.  
   
   
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dom,” he squeaked once he was released from the deathly grip, “I’m not Chris, you know?”  
   
   
“Yeah, you don’t smell like him,” Dom said, actually taking a sniff of Matt’s armpits, before scrunching his face away in half mocked disgust. “Ew, you stink!”  
   
   
“And you look like an idiot, you - wait, what the hell are you doing - hahaha! - stop it!”  
   
   
Matt sputtered out a shrieking laugh as Dom kept digging his fingers in his ribs, tickling him till the brunet openly begged for mercy. “Please,” he said one more time, his fingers tangling with Dom’s as he tried to peel them away from his aching sides, “please, everything but this, really, I hate tickling, I’m terrible when it comes to it, sometimes I even start laughing before they touch me!”    
   
   
“Really? Aw, how cute,” Dom said, giggling a bit himself. “You have the craziest laugh, I swear!”  
   
   
“Yeah, cute my arse,” Matt shot back, his eyes already checking the grass around him for his messenger bag. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked, somehow absently, relaxing a bit when he noticed that it had slid behind his back when he’d fallen on the ground.  
   
   
“You know,” he heard Dom say, “I had a date.”  
   
   
Matt did his best to feign some kind of interest. “Oh, cool, so you did go out with Pat, in the end,” he uttered, his voice trembling with what he hoped would result as pure excitement. “How did it go?”  
   
   
“‘t was shit.”  
   
   
“Oh.”  
   
   
They just sat there in a comfortable silence for a few more moments, Dom lighting a cigarette after Matt refused to take one himself. Neither of them felt the need to mention what had happened on the school field just that morning – it was all forgiven, and long forgotten.  
   
   
Maybe that was what being friends was really about, right?  
   
   
Lifting his bum from the grass just enough to pull his bag against his side, Matt rummaged inside of it till he found the crushed box of sweets. Much to his surprise, two of them turned out to be still reasonably edible, although they didn’t look as round and perfect as they had before.    
   
   
“You want one?” he offered, extending his arm to present Dom with the treat. The blond took another drag off his cigarette, turning his head to peek suspiciously at the squashy teacake in Matt’s palm before accepting it.  
   
   
“Is this your twisted way of telling me that you hate me?” he asked, sounding rather amused despite his best effort to keep a straight face. “I know I can be a complete dick sometimes, but really? Mashed mushy marshmallow cake?”  
   
   
“I’ll have it if you don’t want it, Mr Fancy Pudding,” Matt retorted, his mouth already full of mushy goodness. “I could literally eat a whole box of these and still crave for more.”  
   
   
Dom regarded him with a skeptical look, his left eyebrow shooting up as he poked at Matt’s flat belly under his blue sweater. “How do you keep so fit then?” he inquired, his grey eyes growing huge as he pressed his whole hand against the brunet’s abdomen. “Seriously, you have, like, proper steel abs. It’s actually freaking me out a bit.”  
   
   
“It’s not like I eat a full box every day, Dom – stop, stop touching me!”  
   
   
“Are you actually a werewolf? Or a vampire? You look more like a vampire to me, all pale and freaky and stuff. That would also explain why you listen to fucking Beethoven all the time instead of Oasis, like normal people do, you know.”  
   
   
“I’ve never heard of a vampire with phenomenal steel abs before.”  
   
   
“Yeah, but I guess they’re kind of fit, though, right? I mean, they’re dead, they can’t exactly get fat.”  
   
   
“You’re an idiot,” Matt said, chuckling a bit despite the initial discomfort. Dom was still looking at him with a cryptic smirk on his face, his long fingers fidgeting with the bobbles on the brunet’s sweater almost absent-mindedly. “Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse from too much smoking, “yeah, I’m an idiot. What’s inside that bag?”  
   
   
Unable to stare back into eyes as grey as the storm, Matt found himself wondering just what would happen if he told Dom about his ballet classes in that moment. As he hugged his bag and all its contents tighter to his side, though, he somehow felt like it was hardly the right time for revelations – not because he didn’t trust Dom enough, but maybe because he wasn’t ready to drop the mask yet.    
   
   
“Blood sacks,” he croaked in the end, adjusting his coat around his shoulders before moving to get up from the grass. Dom didn’t laugh at his lame joke, but Matt was actually relieved to see that he didn’t look mad at him as he’d been that morning, either. Rolling his eyes in a dramatic way, the blond held his arm out to help him stand, half of his mushed teacake still nestled between his fingers.  
   
   
“You want the last bite?” he offered, almost as a sign of peace.  
   
   
Biting down on his lips, Matt looked longingly at the sticky white fluff coating Dom’s thumb. “You sure you’re not eating that?” he asked, quickly pushing aside the absurd idea of liking the digit clean.    
   
   
Dom shrugged his shoulders a bit, his tongue making a clicking sound before he lifted the corner of his mouth in another cheeky smile. “Sure,” he said, “you can have it. In fact, I insist you do.”  
   
   
With that, he stood on his knees and smashed the last bits of the squishy cake right on Matt’s lips, forcing him to open his mouth as he tickled his sides with gentle fingers, the brunet’s small frame shaking with blubbering giggles once again.    
   
   
Satisfied, the blond retrieved his fingers, unable to hold his own barking laugh as he took on the way Matt’s face was flushing red, bits of chocolate and marshmallow fluff smeared all over his mouth and cheeks.    
   
   
“You know,” he admitted, “you’re actually quite funny when you’re not busy sticking your nose in a book.”  
   
   
“Not my fault if you’re a sad, ignorant fuck,” said Matt, battling Dom’s hands away when the blond made to help him clean up, “I know it might sound absurd to you, but I actually enjoy reading.”  
   
   
Dom shook his head, still smiling, his eyes winking mischievously.  
  
   
“It’s not a problem if you want to live on the dork side of the moon, Matt,” he pointed out. “But it’s nice when you take a trip to the bright one, you know. I like hanging out with you.”  
   
   
Fingers stopping abruptly in their ministrations, Matt opened his mouth to say something, but all he managed in the end was a simple nod of his head. He felt a bit stupid for that – he could have said “thank you” at least – but soon he realised that he didn’t really need to.  
  
   
“C’mon, it’s almost eleven,” Dom said after a while, glancing at his wristwatch as he straightened up, two muddy splotches soaking his jeans where he’d been kneeling on the grass. “I’ll walk you home,” he offered, looking at Matt with one raised eyebrow. “Don’t want your nana to get too worried about her little Vlad here, do we?”  
   
   
“Aren’t you afraid that I might just slash your neck and leave your body out for the seagulls once we’ve reached a dark alley?” Matt teased, his crooked tooth shining whiter than his companions under the moonlight as he snarled.  
   
   
Leather jacket hanging carelessly on top of his shoulder, Dom clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Gotta risk it to get the biscuit, right?” he said, his fingers drawing invisible commas in the air as he started to walk towards the main street.  
   
   
Matt ran after him, his messenger bag swinging against his side. “Wait, Dom,” he called, “what biscuit?”  
   
   
Smirking, Dom turned to look at him, his fingers already digging in his pockets for another cigarette. “Can’t tell you,” he chuckled. “It’s a secret.” 


	3. tre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read this, just because I'm evil AF: I like to think of George/James as present days Matt. Here, let the Matt!ception begin. Mu ah ah ah.

“I thought you liked Japanese.”  


George - James, for everyone, as he preferred to go by his second name - looked over the table at his son, the boy too busy poking at a California Roll with just one of his chopsticks to even notice that his father was talking to him. A waiter approached their table in that moment, placing two steaming cups of jasmine green tea between them. James thanked him - he had planned to do that in Japanese, but then opted for a very British “thank you” - while Matt just kept staring at the messy crumble of rice and fish on his plate.  


Clearing his throat in hopes of getting the boy’s attention, James picked up his chopsticks and tried again.  


“Don’t you like it?” he asked, gifting his son with a gentle smile as he gestured at the colourful pieces of sushi on the table. “We can order something else if you want. I just thought you would like California Rolls because… err,” he stopped then, his eyebrows furrowing as he tried to think of something clever to say. “Well, you like prawns!” he stated, nodding enthusiastically as if to make a point of it.  


At least Matt was looking at him now, seemingly listening to whatever he was babbling about. James kept watching the boy as he picked up his one chopstick again, stabbing a roll right in the middle as if he were using a fork and lifting it to his face for a cautious sniff. His nose scrunching up in a display of confused distaste, Matt held the piece of rice close to his mouth, but didn’t bite into it.  


“I like _cooked_ prawns,” he said, looking at his father with his best disgruntled face. “In lemon sauce. On top of linguine.”  


“Those are _cooked_ prawns. Tempura fried, they’re delicious.”  


“I don’t like them.”  


“You didn’t even _try_ them.”  


“Because I don’t like them.”  


“How can you be so sure of it?”  


“I just know.”  


James sighed, one of his hands reaching for the tea and retreating as soon as his fingertips touched the cup. He muttered a curse under his breath, his legs jumping slightly under the table - it was still steaming hot.  


“Careful with that,” offered Matt, giggling like an idiot when his father sucked his index finger in his mouth to soothe the burn. James snickered along with him - or at least he tried to, the sound muffled by the digit - before kicking Matt’s shoe under the table. “Wow, cheers, Matty,” he joked, his words doused in sarcasm, “thanks for taking such good care of me.”  


“Seeing as you’re doing a shit job of it...”  


If Matt didn’t miss the look of hurt on his father’s face, he just chose to ignore it. James’ azure eyes - the same as Matt’s - flashed grey for a second, as if all the colour had drained from them. It didn’t take him long to recompose himself - and admonish Matt for using a swear word; he even laughed a bit, shaking his head from left to right, feeling every bit like the piece of salmon on his plate.  


Pink. And dead.  


“Do you want to go home?” he asked calmly, gently, his thin lips stretching in another tired smile. “We can get something to eat on the road. If you’re still hungry, that is.”  


“Yes. Yes, I want to go home.”  


“Good.”  


Matt watched the scene with a concentrated frown, not missing the look of discomfort on his father’s face as he turned to look around for the waiter, surely ready to ask for their bill.  


He tried to feel at least a bit guilty about it - really, he did. He failed.  


It had been a weird day, with James getting back to Teignmouth that morning unannounced, so suddenly, so unexpectedly that both Matt and his Gran had thought something bad had happened. It turned out that his father just wanted to spend some time with him, because he had “ _missed his boy_ ”.  


They went to the beach that afternoon, all together, Nana as well; James purchased an ice-cream cone for his mother as they strolled down the seaside, but didn’t even ask Matt if he wanted one, too. He already knew the answer to that question and there was no real need to hear it again.  


When his Gran had politely declined their invitation to dine out with them - she said she was going to play cards with Suzie from next door, instead - Matt knew she only did that so that him and his father could spend some quality time together.  


It wasn’t that Matt wasn’t happy about spending the day with his father; he loved him, and he had missed him too - quite a lot, if he had to be honest. James was just 33, even if sometimes he behaved like a 60 years old - something Matt had definitely taken up from him. They both shared a deep love for classical music and old books, or for anything that smelled of dust and dirt and hid a potential secret. Sometimes, when Matt was a kid, they would sneak out together in the middle of the night for an “ _adventure_ ”.  


Matt had soon learned that James spent those days preparing the garden for the night, hiding stuffed animals under the trees, drawing treasure maps and burning them at the edges to give them a mysterious look. He didn’t mind, though - he never told his father that he knew, like he never told him that he knew Santa didn’t _really_ exist. He looked forward to their adventures because his father was _the best_ at hunting treasures.  


As Matt grew up, James taught him how to play the piano, how to cook pasta (their favourite) from scratch and sometimes, when he was feeling very indulgent, he would even let the boy join him for a glass of his favourite Barolo as they chatted about aliens on the porch of Gran’s house.  


But then James had to move to London for work, leaving Matt behind in Teignmouth, because he couldn’t afford a place for both of them in the city. He would still come back in the weekends, more often than not, but it just wasn’t the same anymore.  


It wasn’t enough.  


James was always tired. The city had painted his face a paler shade, his cheeks only reddening when he was drunk or angry. He wasn’t a violent person, quite the opposite, really. Like Matt, James was one to keep everything inside till he reached breaking point. Then he would just melt, maybe raise his voice a bit, but only when he was absolutely sure no one was around to hear him.  


They never talked about Anna - _Annie_ , the girl his father had fallen in love with when he was seventeen.  


“Shall we go, then?”  


Sometimes, Matt found himself wishing he would never come back.

 

*

“What in the good name of Wolfgang is this?”  


Reaching for the stereo in their car with the same urgence of a fish getting back into water, Matt turned to look at his father as if he had just grown a second head. “Dad,” he called, “dad, tell me this is a joke?”  


The loud, ear-splitting falsetto filled the car once again, Matt hurrying to cover his ears from the cacophony of sounds that his dad had just called “youngster music”. Wait, _what_?  


“What do you mean - oh God, please, please, can you at least turn it down? I feel like I’m going deaf.”  


“I quite like this song!”  


“It’s atrocious!”  


James just snickered from his driver's seat, turning the volume down a bit for the safety (and relief) of both his and his son’s ears. “I can’t remember the band’s name. They’re not bad, though. Pretty interesting lyrics, the singer’s a total nutjob.”  


“You bought their album, but you can’t remember their name?”  


“Something about a Greek goddess? I don’t know, Hoshi gave it to me,” he explained. “She says that’s what you young people listen to these days!”  


“Who the fuck is Hoshi?”  


Silence stretched in the car, the song having just gone quiet as if sensing that it wasn’t quite the right time for more crazy guitar riffs. James’ grip fell from the steering wheel, just for a split second, but that was enough to give away his distress, the easy smile on his face turning into a frown before his lips setting into a straight, thin, line.  


“My flatmate,” he tried, though Matt could tell he sounded a bit unsure. “I told you about my flatmate, Hoshi -”  


“You never told me it was a woman.”  


There it was. The accusation, spat in his face with cruel coolness. James risked another look in Matt’s direction, the boy staring at the road in front of them, completely still, emotionless.  


“Hoshi is a girl’s name,” he said, softly, half expecting it when he saw Matt’s knuckles turning white around his knees. “It means _star_.”  


“Well, how the fuck should I know?”  


“Enough with the swear words, Matt.”  


“Is this why we went to that Japanese place tonight?”  


“I just thought you -”  


“Did you fuck her?”  


It all happened in under three seconds' time; James hit the brakes with such force that both of them were sent jumping forward in their seats, then a loud, sickening, cracking sound was heard and five red prints of fingers appeared on Matt’s right cheek.  


Everything stilled - the car, the road, the music, words, hearts. Violence ripped them apart and brought them back together in the silence of a stare, sapphire burning a hole through father hands, their mission lost, the weight of their flesh now unbearable.  


“ _Oh my God_ …”  


When he was five, Matt had run away from home. It wasn’t a proper escape since he had intended on getting back anyway - he just needed to get some pistachio ice-cream first. It was a mission, a request from his mum, who was very sick in bed. She loved ice cream, and wild flowers, and summer and she loved him, her _rebenok_ , and Matt loved her more than anything else, so he would have done anything in the world to help her feel better. He nicked some money from Nana’s purse - just a couple of coins, so he would be able to give them back to her - and ventured out in the rain to get to the ice cream parlour on the Den, because he knew it was his mum’s favourite.  


James got a phone call from one of his mother's friends four hours later, saying that she’d found him, she’d found the missing boy. His heart stuck in his throat, he drove through the city like a blind man, calling his son’s name again and again, even though he already knew where he was.  


When he got to the shop, Matt was shivering from head to toe, but not from the cold; he was afraid his daddy would have been mad at him for not getting the ice cream. “I tried,” he cried, “daddy, I tried, but they were closed and wouldn’t open up for me!”.  


James had felt his heart singing that very moment. It was the saddest, most beautiful melody he had ever heard - something he never got the chance to experience again in his life.  


They bought Anna a bunch of yellow flowers, because Matt had said the colour reminded him of her hair when it was long and wavy and bright like the sun. They even stopped at the bookshop to get her a book about summer - it was a kids book, really, a story about mermaids living under the sea, but she liked it anyway. She liked the drawings, she said, “these mermaids have such pretty hair!”.  


She never got her ice cream, but if she was unhappy, she never mentioned it.  


She passed away just a week after that, wishing she had a tail, so that she could swim in the ocean.  


Shaking as if it were the end of the world, fifteen-year-old Matt looked at his father one last time before he unfastened his seatbelt and jumped out of the car, as if it were still in motion. He didn’t stop to breathe - he didn’t think he was still physically able to do it - nor did he look back as he started running through the fields at the side of the country road, his heart pummeling his chest.  


He fell to his knees a few metres away, only to get back up a second later, still stumbling, almost swimming in the yellow-green sea before him. He could hear his father calling after him, probably tearing apart patches of grass as he made his own way through the field, chasing him, but Matt was faster. His legs were strong, his calves well-trained; his will to get away from everything almost drove him on autopilot.  


Soon, he couldn’t hear James’ voice anymore. He found himself nearing a street at the end of the field, the lights of the shops blinding him in the growing darkness. Numb, dumbstruck, Matt watched his feet as they walked the familiar trip to Meg’s old gym, hoping to find her there training her late class.  


He hadn’t expected to find himself in front of Dom’s place instead, knocking on the front door with growing insistence until a head of blonde hair peaked from behind it, grey eyes growing huge as they realised just who it was that was making so much noise.  


“Matt? What the -”  


“Can I come in, please?”

*

“I didn’t find any ice, so here’s some frozen peas instead!”  


Sitting on the edge of an ancient looking bathtub - it had _lion_ feet - Matt couldn’t help but feel very confused about his current situation. Embarassed, above all. A bit gross, too, as his clothes and skin were almost completely covered with dirt.  


“There’s no need for -”  


“Ah-ah, Bellamy, shut up and hold still.”  


Clicking his tongue against his cheek, Dom pressed the bag down on the side of Matt's face, keeping it there for a few moments before removing it to inspect the damage.  


“Who did this?” he asked, his fingers gently caressing the reddened skin.  


Matt considered briefly the idea of lying to him, just _because_ , but before he could think of something else to say, he found himself blurting out the correct answer.  


“My father.”  


Stilling in his ministrations, Dom opened his mouth, only to close it again after a few moments. He applied the bag against his friend’s cheek once more, feeling his own fingers going numb because of the ice. “I see,” he said after a while. “Is he back in town?”  


“Just for today. He leaves tomorrow in the morning.”  


Seizing on the occasion of getting more informations out from Matt, Dom sat across from him on the floor, the brunet lowering his head so that the blonde could keep pressing the frozen peas on his cheek without straining his arm too much.  


“Did you two had a fight?” he asked, wincing a bit as water started trickling down his wrist. The ice was starting to melt, but Matt didn’t seem to notice, nor care, lost as he was in some kind of deep, silent conversation with himself.  


It was a bit scary if Dom had to be honest. All the time, all the freaking time, Matt was in full control over his body, his reactions. Everything he said, everything he did, think, love, all of it passed through the scan of his super-duper-brain, and now… well, he looked like a right mess.  


“I don’t know, I - I’m sorry, I was running through the fields,” he said after what felt like a whole ten minutes. Still trembling, Matt kept babbling nonsense about being in a car and grass and fireflies, his right hand tracing patterns on Dom’s arm as he silently asked him to leave the bag to him. “I’m sorry I came here,” he finally said. “I didn’t - I don’t even _know_ how I got here.”  


“Nonsense. You’re always welcome here, Matt - it was unexpected, yes, but I’m kinda happy you came here with, err, no idea you were actually coming here. Through the fields. With the fireflies.”  


If Matt had thanked him, then, he’d done that again without words.  


“You never know if you’re having a fight, with him,” he went on. “With dad, I mean. He doesn’t like getting angry. Or, well, he doesn’t like showing it.”  


  
_That reminds me of someone I know_ , Dom thought. He kept that to himself, anyway, because Matt seemed vulnerable now and he didn’t want to pull his strings more than he already was.  


“Well, he must have been pretty angry to -”  


“It was just a moment,” Matt cut him off. “I deserved it, he’s not like that.”  


“I see.”  


They sat in silence for a little longer, Dom helping Matt to a piece of toast he’d snatched from the kitchen while his family was having dinner. When the bag of peas turned into a mushy sack of water, he lifted it from Matt’s cheek completely and offered his medical opinion to his friend.  


“Well, I think you’ll live, Mr. Bellamy. You were very lucky your nose wasn’t involved in the, err, collision.”  


“It’s not like it can get any worse, is it?”  


“You bet your ass it could - ‘s not that bad, really, just a bit… to the left. Very independent.”  


“Shut up!”  


“It’s true! I think you have a very important nose, like, you know, it suits your face.”  


“So you think my nose fits my face, uh?”  


“It does. I like your face, it’s... it’s -”  


“Important?”  


A pause.  


“ _Very_.”  


Matt laughed a bit at that, flashbacks from a conversation on the school fields coming back at him all together. Dom had said something about some girl’s nose, about how he didn’t find her pretty because it didn’t “fit” her face...  


It was a shock when he realised he was _flirting_ with Dom. It was an even a bigger shock to realise that he had actually _enjoyed_ flirting with Dom. Was Dom flirting back? Was he just taking the piss? What in the name of all that was sacred was an “important” face?  


Just as he was wondering about that, he saw Dom moving to get up from the floor, the blonde looking at him with an unreadable expression.  


For a crazy, fabulous, quarter of a second, Matt thought that maybe, _maybe_ , he was going to kiss him.  


“C’mon, I’ll walk you home.”  


He was wrong. Of course. Not that he cared, not that he really wanted to be kissed by Dom.  


“Could I - couldn’t I stay for the night?”  


Dom stopped right in his tracks, almost dropping the bag of thawed peas on the floor as he took in his friend’s appearance, all wild eyes and red cheeks and pleading eyebrows. He wanted to give in - hell, he was about to give in - but then he remembered why Matt was there in the first place and he shook his head no.  


“Any other time, Matt, I would have said yes.”  


“But -”  


“I really think you need to go home.”  


Had Matt been standing up, Dom was sure he would have stomped his foot on the floor for good measure. His face scrunching up in a childish pout, the brunet rewarded his friend with yet another scolding look, his shoulders tensing up as he insisted with his plea.  


“What if I told you I don’t want to?”  


But the game was out, a game Dom was just too good playing at; he knew Matt didn’t mean that - he knew that he knew that had to go back home, sort things out with his father.  


“I’d drag your sorry arse back to your Gran’s place anyway.”  


It lasted a moment, one of those moments the books say you’ll miss if you blink; Matt smiled that adorable smile of his, all blue eyes and a single dimple in his right cheek, and Dom could swear he had felt the ground shaking beneath his feet.

*

James’ car wasn’t in the driveway when they got there, but Matt knew his father was home, because the light in the kitchen was on. Nana never left the lights on.  


He told Dom to wait at the street corner for him, or not to wait at all, to get back home instead, because he himself was going home now, and he had to do this alone. Dom lit a cigarette and sat on the sidewalk, waving him goodbye in his own goofy way, not moving from there till he was sure the light in the kitchen had gone off.  


The door opened as soon as Matt crossed the white picket fence of Nr. 8, a short man with gentle eyes and worried shoulders standing on the threshold to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rebenok: it means "child" in Russian. :)


End file.
